Petty Pewter Gods gf-8

by Glen Cook

  Chatter on the street was all about the night's bizarre weather, the devastation, the strange things seen prowling and brawling. There was still plenty of snow in areas where the scrap had turned bitterest. There were witnesses who thought we faced the end of the world. Others were sure TunFaire was about to be punished for its wickedness. And, of course, a variety of entrepreneurs were taking advantage of the windfall.

  Just goes to prove no wind is an ill wind for everyone.

  I had my breath back. I rose on tiptoe, tried to spot Adeth. I had no luck, but that might have been just because the crowd was so thick.

  The Goddamn Parrot dropped in out of nowhere, smacked down on my shoulder, staggered me. Several people nearby jumped. He startled them even more when he squawked, "Why are you just standing here?"

  "I don't see her."

  "She has not moved an inch. Get on with it. I need to free up another mind to deal with Miss Winger."

  A long, lean, ratty character with the look of the born hustler eyed the bird. "How much ya want for dat crow?"

  "Ha! Walk with me, my man. Let us negotiate." As I stared I glimpsed a wild spray of red hair tossing in the breeze. "Start by making me an offer." Try any number greater than zero. I'll lie to Morley. Poor Mr. Big. A hero! He flew into a burning building to waken sleeping babies.

  I guess I was too eager. The mark grew suspicious. "I get it. You're one a dem ventrical twisters and dat's yer con. Sellin' talkin' birds."

  "He has your number, Garrett. Whawk!" There is nothing quite like the sound of a parrot snickering.

  "I'd drink a beer to show him it's really you who does all the talking for both of us, but then you wouldn't say a word just to spite me."

  I caught another glimpse of red hair. She was exactly where I had seen her last, but obscured by windrows of taller people.

  My new friend told me, "Be worth somethin' ta me ta learn dat trick. How you get it ta move its beak like dat?"

  "You take a strand of spider silk and tie it around his little bird balls. You run it down your sleeve. You tie it to your pinky, which you wiggle whenever you want him to move his mouth."

  "Hey! Slick." Then he realized that he was being put on. He suggested I engage in an act of self-admiration physically impossible for most of my species and then flung himself into the crowd. He was so irritated he lost his concentration and moments later became involved in a scuffle when he tugged a purse a tad too hard and numerous dwarves began to admonish him with cudgels.

  "Please move faster, Garrett. That could be the seed of another riot."

  He was right. Already some humans were wanting to know why dwarves were abusing their brother. If they were the sort who believed dwarves deserved to be robbed just for being dwarves, the fur would fly.

  63

  I scrambled up a stoop on the south side of Macunado, opposite my own, trying for a better look at Adeth. At that moment a very large fellow, who had some nonhuman in him from several generations back, broke up the developing melee. He asked what happened to start it. People shut up when he said he wanted to hear the dwarves' story first. Something about him suggested secret police. Nobody argued with Relway's men. By the time I'd gotten a look at Adeth and plotted my course, the big guy had allowed the dwarves to go back to pummeling the cutpurse. Everyone else just stood around watching justice take its course.

  As I descended the steps a wiseass neighbor asked, "What you supposed to be now, Garrett? Some kind a pirate?"

  "Argh! Shiver me timbers. Keelhaul the blighter."

  I slipped into the press before further distraction could develop.

  Being taller than most people and now closer, I found it easier to keep Adeth's position fixed. Of course, she didn't move. And there seemed to be an island of stillness around her. Nobody saw her, but nobody tried to walk through her. Everybody gave her a foot and a half of clearance.

  I stayed as far to the side of the street as I could. Stoops and stairwells down to low-level apartments got in my way. Beggars and homeless people had mats and blankets spread in odd shady corners, as did small businessmen who dealt in trinkets of dubious provenance. How much worse would it be on the commercial streets? Macunado is just a meandering trafficway passing through an area that is mostly residential.

  Something stirred in a shadow beside me, suddenly. Something stung my left cheek. A woman in front of me, headed my way, flung a hand to her mouth and shrieked. I touched my cheek.

  It was bloody.

  Magodor occupied the shadow. She smiled as she tasted a razor-sharp fingernail. "Tokens of love," I muttered. I shook out a grubby handkerchief. I might end up with a scar. I could claim it was a saber wound. I could make up a story about a duel in defense of a virgin princess's honor... Nobody would believe that. All the women I know are neither.

  The Goddamn Parrot squawked, "I'm blind. Talk to me."

  "Magodor just ambushed me," I said. "You read me?"

  "Only the bird." The Goddamn Parrot took off, putting distance between himself and risk before Magodor understood that he was more than decoration. Seconds later Winger and Saucerhead burst out my front door, descended the steps part way, paused in a stance that meant they were harking back to the Dead Man. Dean stepped out behind them, holding the door open.

  The cavalry was on the scene, but there wasn't much it could do.

  Magodor laughed, though not cruelly. She was amused.

  I slowed but kept moving. Only steps away now. Adeth looked like she was in a trance. Or on weed. Which reminded me. We still had a banger-loving cherub in the Dead Man's room, solid as an ugly hunk of rock, visible to anyone who looked.

  I felt a vague brush. His Nibs was trying to reach me. His touch was being turned away.

  Maggie laughed again.

  I took Adeth's hand. She did not respond. I slipped an arm around her waist. Had I been snookered again?

  People passing tried not to stare at the goofball dancing with air.

  "Is that some kind of mime, Momma?"

  Adeth started. "Easy," I pleaded, before she did anything I would regret. "I just want you to come over to the house for a minute."

  People gaped.

  "Momma, mimes aren't 'sposed to talk."

  Could you make a goddess visible by tossing paint on her? I wondered.

  Adeth didn't speak. She flickered, though. People jerked their heads, having caught something from the corners of their eyes. A ripple spread, the old TunFairen sixth sense for the strange or dangerous. Open space expanded around me.

  Maggie laughed yet again, softly, behind me. She was having fun. I told her, "Come on, darling. You're invited, too."

  "Momma, who is the mime man talking to?"

  Momma didn't want to know. Momma just wanted to get on down the street. Not that that was likely to position her more securely in regard to TunFaire's weirdnesses. Things were strange everywhere, and bound to get stranger.

  "Wonderful. I've wanted to see your place," Maggie said, accepting my invitation. That both astonished and frightened me. What the hell? What was I in for now?

  She came up and slipped under my free arm. She flickered, too. I got the impression some people caught glimpses from straight on. The open area expanded rapidly.

  And, of course, Mrs. Cardonlos was out on her stoop to observe everything.

  Winger and Saucerhead sort of oozed down to street level and out of the way. I think Dean really wanted to slam and bolt the door. As he was about to surrender to temptation, a pair of owls swooped down and changed over right there, without bothering not to be seen. He went catatonic in mid-motion.

  Magodor went angry.

  Saucerhead and Winger went away, as fast as their heels and toes would shuffle. I have no idea what became of their funny-looking friend.

  64

  "Maggie. Maggie! Darling! Nobody, not even the loveliest goddess, ever learned anything with her mouth open."

  "You are insolent beyond all tolerance, Garrett."

  "Yeah. Show m
e where I've got a lot to lose. I'm not on anybody's side. Never have been. But I can't make any of you gods accept that. I don't care any more about your survival than you do about mine. Since everything I do offends somebody, why should I worry about it? Come on and join the Garrett zoo."

  Dean forced the door open wider as we mounted the steps, but he did not look at us. His whole attention was on the shadows in the hallway. I told him, "You want to drool, you ought to see Star."

  Magodor spat, "She's a moron."

  "It isn't her mind that precipitates salivation."

  "I am aware of how males see these things."

  On my other hand, Adeth seemed to regain the lost spark of life. Suddenly Dean could see her.

  He did not lose interest in the owl girls, but he was distracted. A redhead will do that to the most stouthearted of men.

  I said, "Sometimes daydreams come true." He would recognize Adeth as a close approximation of my perfect fantasy woman. "And some nightmares do, too." Because Magodor suddenly chose to materialize in one of her more unpleasant forms.

  Dean said, "I'll make tea," and headed for the kitchen.

  I returned to the door long enough to get the Goddamn Parrot inside. He was perched on the railing out there, reciting poetry. I have trouble enough with the neighbors.

  Magodor eyed Adeth warily but behaved herself. I guided them into the Dead Man's room, though I had no idea what good this would do.

  Cat was there already, a recovered Fourteen in her lap, shaking. Magodor seemed surprised. "Who is she?" The cherub she recognized, at least by tribe.

  The Dead Man touched me weakly. Bring the Shayir girls, Garrett. Ladies, if you please, a little less intense.

  Like the Loghyr said, what good is nerve if you don't use it?

  I went to the small front room. The owl girls cowered in a corner, too frightened to try a getaway. Maggie must be a real smouldering bitch.

  Guess you don't pick up a nickname like The Destroyer because you fudge at marbles.

  "Come with me, girls. Calmly. No need to be scared. We're just going to talk."

  One—Dimna, I think—tried to run. I caught her, held on, patted her back. She settled right down. I opened an arm, and the other came for a hug. They really were simple.

  The followers of the Shayir pantheon must have been pretty simple themselves.

  Hell, I think No-Neck said they were lowest common denominator back when we were field-testing the Weider product. Or was that the Dead Man? Did it matter?

  "It'll be all right," I promised the girls. I didn't mind seeing Imar and Lang plop back into the Black Lake of Whatsis, but to condemn similarly these two would be too cruel. The world could use more happy gods and goddesses.

  I yelled, "Dean! Bring beer for me."

  Dean came from the kitchen as I held the Dead Man's door for the girls. He had a big pot of tea, several mugs, and all the side stuff. The water must have been on. My beer was there. With backup. He told me, "I thought you might need fortification." He could not keep his eyes off the girls. His tray started to shake.

  "That's an understatement."

  Dean started to ask something but then saw Magodor trying to intimidate everyone with one of her nastier looks.

  "Maggie, knock it off!" I snapped before I thought. "No wonder you guys worked your way down to the strong end of the Street. You had a stupid boss, yeah, but I haven't seen much to recommend the rest of you, either. Cat! Stop shaking. That cup belonged to my mother. It's about the last thing of hers I have left."

  The Dead Man managed to slide in, What are you doing?

  65

  I was trying to break everybody's mental stride. If they were off balance they might think instead of just reacting.

  It worked. Sort of.

  Everybody stopped to gawk at me.

  I said, "We came close to disaster last night. Because of stupidity and thoughtlessness. Imar and Lang nearly cost us the wall between this world and the darkness. The goddesses who set them up didn't show any forethought, either. It shouldn't have taken any genius to anticipate their behavior. Magodor, you never seemed stupid. When you maneuvered the ladies so they would manipulate the males... "

  Garrett.

  I was on a roll. I didn't want to hear from anybody yet.

  "No," Magodor snapped.

  Garrett, I fear it may be less simple than you think, complex as that is.

  "Huh?"

  Cat, Fourteen, and the owl girls contributed silence. I expected nothing more. Adeth, though, was turning out to be an unexpected zero.

  The Adeth creature is no goddess, Garrett. I can read nothing there. And this is for the very good reason that there is nothing there.

  "What?" It was me off balance now.

  This Adeth is a construct. A golem or dibbuk, if you will, here specifically to catch your eye. We should get it out of the house. Its ultimate purpose may be more sinister.

  I slipped my arm around the redhead's waist. I tried to lead her away.

  Nope. Nothing doing. All of a sudden that little bit had the inertia of a pyramid.

  "Cat. You know something about Adeth. You'd better let us know." I watched Magodor. Near as I could tell, she was unaware of what the Dead Man had sent me.

  She cannot read me at all. I cannot get through to her. Presumably the dibbuk is blocking me.

  Cat did not respond immediately.

  I relayed the Dead Man's observations. The owl girls developed cases of the sniffles. Magodor considered Adeth. "Interesting. You were trying to get rid of her?"

  "Yeah."

  Magodor seemed to vibrate. A baby thunderclap announced Adeth's departure. "She is in the street again."

  "Do you know anything about Adeth?"

  "She was someone Imara knew. I never heard of her before Imara organized the plot to rid us of Imar and Lang and the others. She had no trouble making herself visible to mortals and could change her appearance quickly. Her only direct part was supposed to be to bring you to us, making Abyss, Daiged, and those think she might be one of the Shayir."

  Cat said, "Mother got the whole plot idea from Adeth."

  Did that make Maggie sit up? You betcha. Me, too.

  "How long ago?" I asked. "Cat, I don't think you were any accident. You were created deliberately so your mother could assume... "

  "Stop."

  "I'm sorry. But... "

  "Just stop."

  "Plausible," Magodor observed. "Very plausible. Assuming she feared someone very powerful, a mortal identity would be a good place to hide."

  "Please stop."

  Adeth.

  "Who or what is Adeth? It's very important."

  "She was my mother's friend. I don't know. Maybe even her lover. She had a lot. When Imar wasn't looking. Adeth was just always around, ever since I was little. She never even noticed me."

  Magodor snapped, "Where is your mother now? Where is the real Adeth?"

  "I don't know. I've been here."

  I heard Dean scoot along the hallway. The front door opened, then slammed. "What the hell?"

  The bird. I had him put out.

  "Good. Find him a cat to play with." I asked Magodor, "What do you know about Adeth?"

  "Nothing. The name was new to me when Imara said we would use her to manage you. Her plot had many friends."

  "How many of you are there? You really don't know everyone in your racket?"

  "No, I don't. No one has any idea how many thousands or what kinds of us came across in the great migration. There's never been any reason to know. Do you know everyone in this great sump of a city?"

  No. Of course not. I don't even know everybody on my block. People come and go. But that was different. Wasn't it? I wasn't in the Three-O racket. Nobody expected omniscience, omnipotence, or omnipresence from me.

  Petty pewter, No-Neck. Petty pewter. All of them.

  The more I had contact with them, the smaller the gods seemed. Maybe the poet was right about familiarity breeding contempt.
>
  Garrett. The dibbuk has decided to return. Or has been instructed to do so.

  Whichever, a tremendous crash came from the front of the house. A moment later Dean and the Goddamn Parrot both started exercising their voices in protest.

  I told Magodor, "It came back."

  66

  Magodor tossed the goddess-golem back into the street. "I'm not strong enough to push it any farther." She was surprised.

  The dibbuk headed for the house again.

  People were aware that something weird was happening. The street was clearing fast.

  I whimpered about the damage to my door until I saw smug Mrs. Cardonlos staring, grinning because she'd just found fresh ammunition to use in her campaign to condemn me.

  "What do you think, Old Bones?"

  Wholly on an intuitional level, I suspect we would find no Adeth—not this Adeth—on any roll of gods.

  Intuition, for him, is filling gaps in already chancy information webs by applying his several minds. He is very good at filling gaps with plausible and possible gossamers. But he won't betray his thinking until he has everything nailed down, beyond dispute. He hates being wrong way more than he hates being dead.

  "You're that sure? That you'll tell me now?"

  No. There is a matter of probabilities and risks and their comparative magnitude. If I am correct, time wasted filling the remaining gaps is time we can ill afford to waste. Particularly now that the villains must face the possibility that I suspect the truth.

  Only the Dead Man would think enough of himself to fancy himself a threat to the gods.

  "Better come out with it, then."

  Relay this. I cannot reach the others all at once.

  "Listen up, folks. His Nibs has a big story coming out."

  The Adeth dibbuk was created specifically as an instrument by which you could be manipulated, Garrett. You were chosen because you were certain to become a focus for conflict. You were intended and expected to become a continuous provocation.

  "Little old me? Broke their hearts, didn't I?"